18. TIAGO #2
I can’t imagine life without my mom or dad. I don’t mean to sound like Dominic Toretto, but family means everything.
My brain chooses now to remind me of that time I told her she wouldn’t know something real if it bit her in the ass. Shit, I feel like a dick. She probably doesn’t remember it.
‘How long ago?’ I ask.
‘Not telling.’
‘How’d it happen?’
‘Still not telling.’
‘Fuck,’ I say, pushing my hair back. ‘That’s just awful.’
She exhales roughly. ‘Can you find a damn filter?’
‘Are you ok? What about your dad?’
‘He’s alive.’
‘You must be super close. Going through that together… You’re, like, all each other has.’
‘Thank you for reminding me.’
‘Are you ok about it?’
Her stare hardens even more. ‘Like you said, I wouldn’t know something real if it bit me in the arse.’ She tongues her cheek, and I feel the creeping sense that I’m not just a dick, I’m the world’s biggest dick.
‘I’m s—’
‘Food’s up!’ Trey hollers, and I didn’t realise I could smell pizza until right now. He turns to Jules and Nyla. ‘I didn’t know what you guys wanted so I got a couple of everything.’
It’s been so long since we’ve had guests on here, I feel like I’m seeing it through their eyes.
The cabin floods with crew as they lay store-bought pizzas on porcelain plates and starched white tablecloths.
The garlic butter’s been arranged into rose shapes and placed beside us like precious caviar.
‘I’m so glad it’s my turn to choose the menu on the outbound from Italy,’ says Trey, unrolling his napkin with childlike glee. ‘Genuine Italian pizza and cannoli for dessert.’
‘I don’t know…’ Isa grinds pepper on hers. ‘It’s my turn from New York to home so we’re having birria tacos from Birrialandia.’
‘That’s sacrilegious! You can’t have tacos on the way to Miami.’
She juts her chin out. ‘Mírame.’
Nyla’s taking in everything. Jules is picking at her food like it’s moving.
‘Not big into junk food, huh?’ I say. Figures. Her body probably means everything to her. I bet she hasn’t touched carbs in a decade. I’m not complaining or anything, the girl keeps her shit tight.
‘I don’t have an appetite on—’
The plane judders. It’s not severe – the cutlery barely shifts an inch – but it’s enough for Jules to lock up. She looks like the captain’s announced an engine’s blown. I don’t like it, and not just because I don’t know how to talk to her when she’s not being combative.
‘It’s probably just a jet stream boundary,’ I explain in the hope that understanding air travel will take the fear out of it. ‘A jet stream’s like a river of air, and when you enter it—’
‘Thank you, Wikipedia.’
Ok, not hot about Aviation 101. Let’s try something else.
‘I have a question.’ I take a big bite of dunked crust and temper my voice so JC can’t hear.
Not that it’s possible over Trey regaling the girls about his (limited) soccer triumphs.
‘Why’s cuffing Tom so important to you? You ally with me and do the lion’s share of the work.
You hate flying, but travel across the world to races.
You bust your ass to work with companies close to him and his team.
All to date one dude for, what, six months – if your last relationships are anything to go by. And a pretty average dude too.’
That rouses her. ‘Average? He’s a three-time World Champion.’
‘You can’t fuck a trophy, Jules. Especially not the F1 one. It’s shaped like a vase.’
‘Aren’t you meant to be his friend?’ Her tone suggests she knows very well we’re not, and that makes my stomach lurch.
Let’s leave the contract’s legality to the side.
If she realises I’ve been lying and voids it, our alliance will be instantly terminated.
No more secret meetings, no more social media advice, no more press briefings…
nothing. We haven’t even had the chance to shop for a new wardrobe, and she’s made me self-conscious about my ‘Billie Eilish’ clothes.
I watch her closely as she returns to her food. She doesn’t look like a woman on the brink of cancelling a contract; she looks like a woman trying to swallow without throwing up. I’m going to ignore what she said and hope it was a throwaway comment.
‘Look, it’s not for the frequent flyer miles,’ I say. ‘You’re not a gold digger – you would’ve stuck with Reisner, and if that didn’t work out, Rogers is on Nike’s books now. You’d be solid until the next millennium. Hey, it worked great for my mom.
‘Is it that you like giving men a makeover? But the different sports thing seems oddly specific.’
She nibbles on a slice of crisp sausage. ‘I’m just a greedy, superficial influencer.’
I wouldn’t care if that were true – she’s doing a stellar job. Her Instagram’s so pleasing to look at. Everything’s pretty and harmonious. But she’s not ‘just’ anything. There’s strategy behind every single thing she does.
‘I don’t buy it. You’re way too smart. Is it a status thing?’
‘I already told you.’
‘Do you even like these guys? They’re all very different, and the way you pick them seems systematic so my guess is no.’
‘Very good, Sherlock, you got me.’ Her eyes flare so I wonder if she’s being sarcastic, but I can’t be sure. The British and their mysterious sense of humour.
‘So you use them,’ I say slowly.
‘I don’t use anyone,’ she retorts too sharply. Excellent, I touched a bruise.
‘It’s unethical, no?’
‘It’s not unethical. They all know upfront who I am and what I’m doing… mostly.’
Mostly. We’ll circle back to that later. ‘Which is what?’
‘Making us into… you know, hot property.’
I laugh around a mouthful. ‘The Noughties called, they want their lingo back.’
She shakes her head in annoyance. ‘My exes wanted the partnership arguably even more than I did. They got a stronger reputation, better offers, better press. And I got… Yes, it’s a status thing.’
‘I knew it!’ I take a victorious bite of pie. ‘Ok, so the using isn’t one-sided, but the romantic element complicates things, right? Do you sleep with them?’
‘Not always.’
‘Fascinating.’
‘There’s nothing fascinating about it. I have needs, same as everyone.’
‘Could’ve fooled me,’ I mutter.
Her look is withering. Good to see she’s back to full strength. It nurses protective instincts I didn’t know I had. Let’s unpack that never.
‘Whatever, sew your oats, girl. But here’s what I don’t get: somewhere along the way they fall in love with you. Sure, they’re not meant to, but—’
‘They don’t fall in love with me.’ She uses her knife and fork to start eating for real. Who eats pizza like this?
‘Tell that to Logan Rogers. Last week, he sang ‘I Will Always Love You’ on a TikTok Live and dedicated it to you.’
Her eyes snap to mine. ‘How do you know that? Have you been stalking me?’
‘There was talk he was transferring to the Dolphins a couple years back so I followed him. Contrary to what you might think, not all sportsmen are obsessed with you.’
‘Logan was…’ She fiddles with her napkin. ‘I don’t really understand how it escalated in his mind. I always put contingencies in place.’
‘Like contracts?’
‘No.’ She screws her face up like that would be crazy. Who would do such a thing? ‘I limit our time together, I have strict boundaries, I centre our relationship on him, I control the narrative… Things like that.’
And we’re back to mostly. ‘But Tom’s different. He’s analogue. He doesn’t know about this manipulation thing, does he.’ It’s not a question.
Jules tuts. ‘You make it sound so sordid.’
‘Does he,’ I press.
‘No, he doesn’t know I have an agenda. But by the time I realised that, it was too late. I didn’t have time to pick someone else, though if I’d known it would take this long…’
‘Why don’t you ask him out? This isn’t the fifties. What do you need me for?’
She gives me a long, tired look. ‘You clearly don’t understand your own gender.’
I return her look. ‘Not all men are trash, you know.’
She takes her biggest bite yet. ‘Aren’t they?’